


Satisfaction

by matchstick_milk



Series: Better or Worse [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking, college student nitori, soutori - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:06:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12201729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchstick_milk/pseuds/matchstick_milk
Summary: They've been dating for a while now; Sousuke's sure he knows Ai well enough, and vice versa. They don't keep secrets. Or, at least, he didn't think they did.





	Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! 
> 
> had this in my head ever since i saw a screenshot for the new free! movie that had nitori and sousuke in the same frame lmao. hope you like it!! please talk to me about soutori in the comments if you feel so inclined~

They've been doing this for a while: tangling into each other's lives.

It's simple, with the two of them. Ai, for all his pickiness, is flexible to a point of insistency. Sousuke insists he doesn't need to hang around after his late classes on Wednesdays and Fridays, doesn't need to expend the extra hour or so walking to the automotive garage when Sousuke  _knows_ he's tired, and could just as easily hop on the train, go home, and rest. But, Ai does it anyways. He had pushed for it, until it became seamless, something close to expected.

Likewise, Sousuke, for all of his quietness, is routine to a point of stubbornness. Like now, when he's off work, smelling like gasoline and oil and rust, and brings Nitori a little something--a warm coffee in the winter, or something sweet to hold him over till dinner--while he's at practice. 

He gets there ten minutes or so before the practice ends; it's nice. Sousuke forgets how much he misses the smell of chlorine until he's breathing it off the silvery strands of his boyfriend's hair. He doesn't swim so much anymore, at least not competitively. The water's therapeutic, so Nitori drags him to this one on his campus when it's Sunday and everyone else is too hungover to use it. Plus, he gets to watch Nitori swim. 

Nitori glides through the water with an effort that's tangible--he's never been a natural like Nanase or Rin--but each movement is deliberate, practiced. Each stroke, each kick is a testament to how hard he's worked to be here. 

His times are getting better. Sousuke can see it, and can hear as much from the coach when Nitori lugs himself out of the pool, clutching his goggles in a way that means he's anxious. 

Sousuke's already stepping off the metal bleachers, warm drink in tow, when their coach is blowing his whistle, practice coming to a close, a flurry of feet on wet tile. Most of the men are heading to the locker room, a few hang back to gossip or make plans; Nitori makes a beeline for Sousuke, smile so wide it crinkles the corners of his eyes, his beauty mark leaning leisurely on his cheek. 

"Sousuke," he says, by way of greeting, tilting his head up, lips first. Sousuke blinks; it's a request for a kiss, something Nitori always has to ask for (much to his annoyance) due to their difference in height. Public displays aren't really either of their style, but Nitori's pleasantly flushed from a hard day's work, and Sousuke's happy to see him, so he obliges, their lips meeting in a chaste kiss nearly no one sees. "I missed you."

"Mm," is all Sousuke hums back, passing the cardboard cup into his boyfriend's hands. Nitori unsnaps the lid and blows into the creamy liquid, fanning off the steam. "Your form looked really good. You're getting a lot better, Ai." 

And, Ai blushes still, only faintly, pleased with himself. "You think so?" 

"Yo, Yamazaki-san," a small gang of underclassmen heckle from not too far away. "Stop distracting our VP!" and another shouts, "He promised to take us all out for curry if we got our times up," and a third, "Which we  _did_!" before they're all laughing, and Nitori is smiling apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"I did say that...." he draws; Sousuke knows that voice. Nitori's ' _I really want to bail, though_ ,' voice. 

"So you'll be home late?" 

Nitori purses his lips, giving it a moment of thought before nodding. Sousuke would be lying if he wasn't a little disappointed. Sure, the two of them have incredibly separate lives, even  _with_ the subtle ways they've crept into one another's daily minutiae, but work was long and busy, and he just wants to relax, the two of them.

Instead, he pushes Nitori's bangs from his forehead and gives him a quick kiss. "I'll leave a light on for you."

And, then, something--Sousuke doesn't know what, doesn't know what _possesses_ him to just... do what he does, but he does it. As he brushes by Nitori, his hand comes gliding down, cutting down easily and landing palm-first on the curve of Nitori's ass. It's more friendly than anything else, probably. A sportsman-like gesture. But, still, Nitori squeaks in a way that echoes off the slick tile and has Sousuke looking back at his boyfriend as if he's committed some crime. 

"Ai, uh--."

"I gotta go Sousuke," Nitori pushes out hurriedly, skin flushed a deep pink from the tips of his ears to his chest. "I'll see you at home, u-unless you're asleep, but you don't have to wait up, okay, yeah, I'll--." He points to the locker room, all the while edging his way around Sousuke like he's made of something toxic, and then--he's gone, leaving Sousuke alone and left to wonder:

 _What the hell just happened_? 

..

Sousuke falls asleep with a belly full of rice and cheap beer, tucked into his side of the bed. When he wakes up, Nitori's spot is no longer vacant; it's early in the morning, a little after five, and the early winter sun's barely begun to trickle in white and yellow through the curtains. Sousuke grins, groggy when he brushes his fingers over Nitori's where it lies between them. The student was still in his clothing from the night before; he must have gotten back late.  _The glamorous life of a senpai_. 

He doesn't dress like he used to. Of course, Samezuka had uniforms, but even on their off days, Sousuke remembers a younger Nitori, wrapped up in cute and colorful cardigans and shorts. He's still managed to maintain that essence of innocence, but there's something to the way he dresses now: the colors are darker, if not just black or gray or white; the cuts have become sharper, more mature and flattering. 

He remembers running into Nitori, when the younger was in his second year of college, a fashion major; the Samezuka team had a reunion, some small get-together at Rin's house back near Iwatobi. Ai was nursing his third beer, when he told Sousuke, "You know, I'm not you're little kouhai anymore,  _Yamazaki-senpai_ ," in a teasing voice before kissing him breathless in the privacy of Rin's back porch. 

That was two years ago; Sousuke still remembers the press of his lips, his fingers and the way they had skirted over his shoulder, skittish. 

Rising out of bed without waking Nitori is a monumental feat that somehow Sousuke pulls off daily. Showering, a breakfast in his dim kitchen, and the walk to work are all quiet. Sousuke doesn't have to say two words to anyone before seven in the morning, and that's the way he likes it. 

Traffic in and out of the garage isn't too bad today; an oil change or two, and some antsy woman complaining about why her "Check Engine" light won't turn off. A slow day is nice, but... can be dangerous. It lets Sousuke think too much. His mind wanders, stupid little things ( _What's that song from that commercial? It's stuck in my head...._ ) and daily reminders ( _I think we're almost out of milk_ ) evolving into something else. 

( _What was up with Nitori yesterday?_ )

Sure he'd never done that before, something so casual, especially not in public. Surely, Ai's reaction was just his embarrassment. I mean, he  _had_ done it in front of the underclassmen, but.... Sousuke frowns at the undercarriage of the car he's working on. Maybe Ai had run away so suddenly because he was upset with Sousuke. It wasn't exactly out of the question; perhaps he owed his boyfriend an apology. 

But, what if.... 

Sousuke frowned even deeper. What if Nitori hadn't acted that way, so avoidant and flustered, because he was angry with Sousuke?

What if he had liked it?

The day passed in a flicker, and yet Sousuke's shift seemed never-ending. This was possibly the most unproductive train of thought he could have gotten caught up in. He knew everything about Ai! Well, just about everything, anyway. How much could he  _not_ know; the two of them had been dating for two years, and living together almost a full year. He had seen Ai sick, they'd shared their deepest fears and secrets, so this.... 

But, still, he reasoned, this was typical Ai behavior. He didn't always have the easiest time expressing himself in bed; no, when it came to casual verbal communication, that's where Nitori beat Sousuke, but in private.... Well, it was another story. So maybe his reaction made sense. Maybe he didn't even know he'd like it until he'd felt Sousuke's hand on his backside at all. 

Sousuke swallows heavy around the lump in his throat. Clocking out, he supposes there was only one way to find out.

..

Sousuke finds Nitori waiting for him at home, like he does every inconsequential Tuesday. It's snowing out, just barely, but Nitori's already started to keep the house a cozy temperature, and it's nice to come home to. The cold makes Sousuke's shoulder stiff, and just closing their apartment door behind him, he can feel itself unknotting, if only a little. 

"I'm home," he announced, and hears something rattle in the kitchen.

"Welcome back!" he shouts as Sousuke toes off his shoes, hangs up his jacket, his keys. "I'm in here."

Nitori doesn't look up from what he's doing, a small mess of unused ingredients laid out on the counter to his right, a bowl and a cookbook in front of him. Sousuke tries not to look too amused, but fails miserably; Ai's a shitty cook, and an even shittier baker, but he's concentrating so hard, Sousuke doesn't have the heart to tell him it'll spare them both dealing with the fire detector if he just quits now. 

"What are you doing?" as Sousuke opens the fridge, reaches for a beer. 

"Trying to make brownies," and he can  _hear_ the dedication in Nitori's voice. "Chigusa leant me her cookbook and said they were amazing, so I thought if she could do them,  _I_ could do them--mmm," and he trails off, eyes shutting and lips creeping into a content smile as Sousuke kisses his cheek, unopened beer set to the side, already forgotten. 

Nitori peeks up over his shoulder, a quiet sparkle in his eye. "I missed you last night. And, today."

Sousuke takes his time, lips butterflying their way along his boyfriend's throat, up to the hollowed spot behind his ear. "I missed you, too," before giving the lobe a soft bite. His arms reach around Nitori, not to hold him, but to cage him in against the counter. Nitori melts into each kiss like ice in warm fingers, hands snaking up into dark hair as he lets himself be pampered a moment longer, before even that is not enough, not as good or as satisfying as feeling those lips against his own, sturdy and sure. 

He feels something encircle his wrist--Sousuke's hand, so much larger than his own--guiding his hand free from Sousuke's hair. They stare at one another through lidded eyes, Nitori's breathing already a little shakier, and it would be so easy. So easy to scoop Nitori up and deposit him on the bed and do as they always do, pressed chest to chest with each other's names on their lips. But, Sousuke didn't spend all day working himself up to something 'easy.' No, Sousuke has a history of making things more difficult than they need to be, and that doesn't end here, in this kitchen, with the most beautiful boy he's ever known wrapped around his finger. 

"I want you to be honest with me," he begins, and Nitori's eyes focus, if only a little more. 

"...Of course, yeah." 

"Yesterday," and he licks his lips as he thinks of a better way to phrase this. "Yesterday, did you like it? When I... hit you?"

He wants to groan at his own stupid mouth the second those words come out of it. Nitori blinks at him before he's giggling quietly, unfolding himself from where he'd already begun to tangle backwards into Sousuke. His finger skims the book again, bottom pushing out against Sousuke's hips a little teasingly. "Sousuke," he chides, tone full of affection and maybe a little exasperation. "I don't want you to  _hit_ me. Now, I've gotta make these tonight, so stop distracting--."

"Let me... rephrase." 

Nitori doesn't turn to look at him, but his finger has stopped skimming, so Sousuke knows he's listening. The taller takes a quiet breath and crowds over Ai, their backs flush against each other, Sousuke's lips warm against his ear. 

"At the pool, did you like it? When I spanked you?" 

And this time, Nitori says nothing nor does he bother trying to move. He's frozen, staring at the book so long Sousuke begins to think he imagined asking in the first place. But, slowly, at his own pace, Nitori's shoulders crowd up around his neck like he wants to shrink into himself, and he turns his head just enough to look at Sousuke in the corner of his eye. It's enough of a tilt for Sousuke to catch the hot flush that's swept across his boyfriend's face, too. 

He breathes aganist Nitori's neck, the beginnings of a laugh. "You did."

" _Sousuke_ , I swear--."

"You know, if you wanted me to do that, all you had to do was ask nicely." 

He sees Nitori's fingers flex where they rest on the counter, unsure. "You're... you're not weirded out by it?"

Sousuke shakes his head. Weirded out? No. Surprised? A little, yeah. "No. I just wish you had told me. That's all." 

And for the first time since they started this, Sousuke hands come off the counter to drift down the length of Nitori's arms, smooth and dotted here and there with small beauty mark, until they rest over his hands, so much softer and smaller than his own. He traps them flat against the cold, faux stone of the countertop. "Keep your hands on the counter," he instructs quietly, though his hands get to move as freely as they'd like; it's both a liberty and a pleasure to feel along his boyfriend's body, uninhibited. 

He can see the tension creeping in the smaller man's shoulders; he wants to touch Sousuke, too. But, this isn't about Sousuke. 

"Don't touch me," Sousuke reiterates, before sucking hard against the pale of Nitori's throat, hands smoothing down to grind against the erection forming in Nitori's drawstring shorts. He sees Nitori's hands twitch hard, hears him whine, the word " _unfair_ " on the periphery of his vocabulary. "Or, there'll be consequences."

They go on like this: Sousuke palming over the too-thick fabric of Nitori's shorts, rolling his nipples in his fingers, and occasionally teasing--but never touching-- under his boxers, all the while, Nitori struggles to keep his hands to himself. 

Sousuke knows that his restraint won't last long, and he doesn't expect it to. Neither does, not when this is just a part of this game they've fallen into, Nitori's self-discipline amounting to foreplay in it's own respect. 

Eventually, with quivering thighs and Sousuke's palm grazing featherlight over Nitori's cock, his left hand flutters off the countertop, reaching to grind his boyfriend's heel down harder, almost punishingly so. The friction is met first with a lofty groan of satisfaction, and then retribution. 

Sousuke stops touching him completely, except to move his hand back to it's rightful resting place on the counter.

"I told you to keep your hands there," his voice thicker with desire; Nitori whimpers at the gravel behind it, and how it feels pressed against his ear. 

Sousuke's hands are on him again, thumbs dipping under the band of the shorts and boxers to yank them down in one motion, together. They pool around Nitori's bare feet, and he's left in only one of Sousuke's old shirts, half-naked and hard in the middle of their kitchen. Sousuke takes his time to appreciate, fingers delicate when they brush the underside of Nitori's cock, warm to the touch. "You're sure you want this," he asks, because he has to; because if he hurt Nitori, hurt this sense of trust they've built, he'd never forgive himself. 

"Please," Nitori breathes, and, then, with a monumental effort, and a coy glance over his shoulder, he murmurs, "I've been bad, right? If I've been bad, I deserve to be punished."

Sousuke doesn't trust himself to say anything, not when he feels the wind knocked so unceremoniously out of him, and his cock surge harder in his jeans. Instead, his actions speak louder, as he presses one hand between his boyfriend's shoulder blades, easing him to bend against the counter, while his other skims Ai's ass appraisingly. 

Sousuke lifts his hand. The air is electric, all of is stemming from Ai, and his shaking, sweating anticipation.

The first smack isn't too hard, but it makes a sharp echo in their empty home. Sousuke's almost worried it was too much when Nitori lets out a little squeak, but that worry becomes something else when his voice peters off into a pleased moan. He smacks Ai's ass with a sort of rhythm; it's easy to anticipate, left to right and back again. Eventually, when Sousuke's counted to five in his head, Nitori makes a small, unsure noise, and the facade drops.

"Do you want to stop?" he asks, rough and all on one, uneven breath.

Nitori's shoulders shift and he shakes his head where it's pressed into the counter. "N-no, that's... that's not it." He fidgets like he doesn't want to ask, like his ass isn't literally already being presented to Sousuke like some unwrapped gift. "It's... you can... you can hit me harder. Ya-... Yamazaki-senpai." 

" _Fuck_ , Ai," and he does as he's asked, even though he's the 'one in charge,' bringing his hand down hard against Nitori's skin, pink where it was once porcelain. "I want you to count for me."

"Y-yes, Yamazaki-senpai," Nitori groans, ass wiggling once he rebounds from Sousuke's latest smack. 

Sousuke smacks him; "o-one." 

Another; "two." 

Sousuke switches to swatting at his right cheek, then both in quick succession, Nitori's hips jumping, cock grinding lighting against the cabinets. Eventually, he stammers over "nine," when it should have been "eight," so Sousuke grabs him by the back of his shirt collar, pulling him to stand straight again. 

"You haven't been paying attention, Ai," he breathes, two fingers tracing through the sheen of drool Nitori's let leak onto his bottom lip. Too far gone into this charade, Nitori's tongue laps shyly at the digits before he takes both into his mouth, sucking hungrily. When he's plenty distracted with coating his fingers in saliva, Sousuke delivers an unexpected smack, one that has Nitori moaning around him. 

"If this isn't enough to... keep your attention," Sousuke murmurs, feigning disappointment as he withdraws his fingers and smears them lazily against his boyfriend's lips, "then we'll have to figure something else out. After all," and  _this_ takes effort for Sousuke, as well, "bad kouhai like you need to learn their lessons, don't they?"

Nitori's full-body shudder and soft keen are their own reward. "Yes, Yamazaki-senpai."

"Then, how do you think you ought to be punished?"

" _Senpai_ , please, please...." 

"Please... what?" his lips curling into a smile at Nitori's sound of frustration.

"Please, fuck me, finger me,  _fuck_ , I don't care, just--!" before his voice cuts off into a strangled sound, Sousuke's finger pressing into him a little farther than it probably ought to. He works in and out of Nitori at a painstaking pace, the smaller falling taught against the countertop once more, writhing back against Sousuke's ministrations until one, and then two fingers aren't enough anymore. 

 

" _Sousuke_ ," Nitori nearly growls, his frustration palpable; it earns him another smack as Nitori's fingers curl deliberately against his prostate, Nitori's nails digging into nothing as his back arches hard. "Y-Yamazaki... Yamakazaki-senpai, please...."

Nitori casts a pitiful, fucked out look over his shoulder, and Sousuke can't help himself; their lips meet in a messy, wet tangle, Sousuke haphazardly undoing his belt the best he can with one hand. "I don't--mmmh--there's a condom in my jacket by--fuck, by the door--."

"Don't need it," Nitori huffs, eyes sharp and serious.

"Ai--."

"I  _don't need it_ ," he insists, breaking a kiss to stare pointedly at his boyfriend. "I don't need a condom, I don't need more lube." He must read the skepticism on Sousuke's face before his lips turn up, a little too crookedly as he reminds Sousuke, "I thought this was supposed to be a punishment, after all."

The moment Nitori's turned around, Sousuke's pants are worked down around his legs in a matter of seconds. Their facade falls away quickly. It's hard to keep up an act when they're so lost in each other, when they're too busy studying each other's faces. There's a burn in Sousuke's muscles where his right arm holds Nitori up against the counter, sliding into him with little resistance. His left arm (his broken half, he jokes to Nitori, though Nitori never laughs) hooks under Ai's knee, helping to propel him when he begins to bob his hips up and down, up and down. 

Nitori wraps one arm around Sousuke's good shoulder, when he rides him, when they fuck in precarious places like this. Kissing becomes uncoordinated, devolving into them pressing open-mouthed moans and bites into each other's skin. Behind him, Nitori can hear the mixing bowl begin to rattle, the rim pressing uncomfortably into his lower back, though he can't be bothered to care. 

"S-sousuke, Sousuke," and Nitori's vocabulary narrows to a litany of breathy 'ah's and 'yes's, which is enough for Sousuke to know he's close,  _incredibly_ close. Nitori's leg hangs a little funny when Sousuke lets go of it, in favor of clamping his hand around the base of Ai's cock. Ai's free hands tightens in Sousuke's shirt, where it rested over his heart, hips bucking into a friction that doesn't exist.

It almost feels a little cruel, but Sousuke knows he's close too, when he feels his abdomen pulling tight and he can no longer keep himself quiet, rough whimpers pressed into the sweaty crook of Nitori's neck. 

"Ai," he breathes, stopping his pumping suddenly, everything, all of it, stopping, the cogs of a machine grinding to a halt. Nitori looks at him, eyes shinny with desire and brows knit in confusion; Sousuke offers him one whisp of a smile, before he's pounding into him again, fist loosening on Nitori's cock enough to pump, dragging loose and fast through his precum. 

Nitori comes first, body rigid against Sousuke's, fingers tight in his hair as his voice pitches into nothing. Sousuke pumps him through his orgasm, chasing his own climax even after Nitori sags against him, whimpering at the over-stimulation.

"Sousuke," he breathes into his ear, encouraging as he begins to rock his hips with what energy he has left. With a mischievous hum, he bites at Sousuke's. "Come for me, Yamazaki-senpai,  _please_. I wanna feel you inside me, mmh,  _senpai_ ," and Sousuke can hear the amused smile in Ai's voice, knowing how silly they sound, one with a job and one a few months from graduating university, but he comes all the same, hard and stilted until he can't stand with both their weight any more. 

He pulls himself out of Nitori before sliding down to the floor of their kitchen, breathing labored, skin prickly with sweat. Nitori joins him there not long after, working his shorts back around his waist. Sousuke tugs his boxers up, but kicks the jeans away--one less thing to wash--as his boyfriend curls up against him, dazed and starry-eyed.

"I love you," he sighs between butterfly kisses--to his cheek, his chin, his shoulder, the corner of his lips. 

"Love you, too." He runs his hand along Nitori's back, under his shirt, then down over his ass, earning a little hiss from the student. "How does it feel?"

"It stings just a little," Nitori murmurs, letting his cheek rest against Sousuke's chest. "Nothing a bath won't fix." He smiles, and laughs to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Sousuke lifts his head. " _What_?" 

Nitori props his chin up on his boyfriend's barrel chest, a dopey smile on his face. Sousuke thinks he could propose to him right there. "Nothing, nothing. I just didn't know you liked it so much when I called you  _Yamazaki-senpai_." 

Sousuke's head falls back onto the floor with a thud. "Oh my god."

Maybe he'd better save proposing for a different time. 

 


End file.
